Antidote
by Nyxierose
Summary: An AU in which Eponine is technically a supervillain (she prefers to describe herself as "morally gray"), Enjolras fights crime when he's not trying to change the world, and neither of them understand relationships very well.
1. Prologue

P

eople talk about her and she loves it. The girl whose touch can kill if she so desires and a seductress to boot, beautiful and deadly and so willing to do whatever it takes to get what she wants. No one knows her past and everyone wants to watch her future and she couldn't be happier.

There's a boy, though. There's always a boy, and this one just so happens to be her perceived nemesis. The papers love a good rivalry, and the fallen woman versus the virtuous angel is one they just can't miss. She knows better, though. She lays eyes on him for the first time at a party she's not supposed to be at and she _knows_. Underneath the golden-boy aura is someone who fascinates her, and she'll do anything to get closer.

The first time they properly meet, if one could call it that, is in a hotel room. He's tracked her down and is pretty well convinced that he'll catch her in flight, but instead she's lying seductively on the bed and clad in black lace lingerie and he doesn't _care_ that she's an amoral disaster of a woman. Any man who could resist that has bigger problems. When she kisses him, really properly kisses him like no one ever has before, he gives in and lets her take him.

In the aftermath, guilt sets in. "So this means…"

"Nothing you don't want," she interjects. "If you want this again, great. But if you'd rather pretend that you didn't just fuck your so-called nemesis and that it wasn't the most satisfying thing you've ever done, have fun with that."

The next time they see each other, there are no formalities, and an arrangement develops. Secret lovers - and they do love each other as much as either of them can - and indifferent in the public eye. Their presumed rivalry is forgotten, and in ten years' time when the viper woman and the untouchable man settle down together, no one cares. No one knows.


	2. Second Time

She slept with him. Three days after the fact, it's the only thing she can think about. She - Eponine Thénardier, walking poison - actually had sex with someone who wasn't some level of dangerous, crazy, or both. Well, she supposes the pretty blonde is technically dangerous, but not like most of the guys she's been with. Nothing like them at all, and that's why she's all confused.

As if that's not bad enough, what does she see when she flips on the TV? Him, of course - or, more accurately, surveillance footage of him getting someone out of a burning building. The usual drill, and while the little redhead in front of the camera might not be so quick on the uptake, Eponine knows darn well who it was because she'd know that stupid red jacket anywhere. She can't help but shake her head and question his sanity. It's like he's trying to attract danger. Then again, he _is_ invulnerable… but fuck, she thought he was smarter than this.

Eventually, boredom sets in. Usually this is the part where she'd use her connections and find a good party to crash, but she's played Catwoman enough for one week and she doesn't need to be seen in yet another inappropriate black dress. Then again, hanging around her apartment isn't exactly her style either. A compromise is in order. She has that arrangement at the hotel, after all - a home away from home in exchange for never laying hands on any of their guests - and it's time to take advantage of it.

Except that that's where she fucked him. She won't even call it sex because that implies things that didn't happen. It was meaningless, she reminds herself in the elevator. Nothing worth looking back on.

Except that, when she unlocks the door and lets herself in, he's there. Shocker. Lying on the bed, half-asleep and looking so angelically beautiful that she has to kick herself to remember he's even real, shoes and jacket kicked aside as if he owns the place. Bastard. She saunters over and throws herself onto the bed next to him, semi-accidentally digging her stiletto into his foot in the process. "Whoever the fuck let you in, they are so dead when I get 'em," she mutters.

"I thought you'd want to see me," he replies, as if the fact that the perfect golden boy has committed his first crime is absolutely nothing. "And you're pretty hard to track down. I didn't even know if you'd come back here."

"What do you want from me? Do you really think you're going to get up my skirt twice in one week? 'Cause trust me, you're good, but you're not _that_good."

"I wanted to see you. You haven't been on the news since last time. I was worried someone else got to you."

She rolls her eyes, lips curved in a half-smile. "Honey, I know half the underworld, and nobody on your side has the reflexes to take me."

"Except I do," he counters, and he's kissing her before she has the chance to fight back. "See? I missed you is all."

She continues to glare at him. "How about we make a deal. Sex is good. You're one of the best I've been with since… well, it's been a while since I fucked someone who wasn't trying to take advantage of me in a different sense. But actual emotions? Anything that happens outside this room? Don't even think about it or I run. Understand?"

His fingers push the straps of her dress off of her shoulders. "Got it. Purely physical and only here. So, shall we?"

"And one more thing - tell anyone about us and I _will_ find a way to kill you, superboy."

"I wasn't planning on it," he says, and then his hands are inching up her thighs and she has much better things to think about than secrecy.


	3. Vain Escape

His mind is reeling, and with good reasons. He doesn't _do_ things like this, doesn't get tangled up with dangerous girls and have liaisons in hotels and actually feel things. Some of his friends joke that his second superpower is being unable to feel anything other than frustration and moral calling, but right now Enjolras feels something entirely different. Foreign, undesirable - and yet not an entirely _bad_ one. Just not one he knows what to do with.

He considers going somewhere to clear his head, but purging via risk doesn't work so well when you're untouchable. Been there, fallen off a rooftop or two, got a few scars but never any peace. Not such a good idea. No, maybe something a little more predictable will suffice. Maybe going home… no, that's another bad idea. Though sharing space with a close friend has been a good arrangement thus far, Combeferre's even smarter than he looks (if such a thing is even possible) and will no doubt figure everything out in seven seconds flat. At this point, the last thing Enjolras wants is to justify his behavior. If anything, he wants to forget… and _that_ is an idea worth pursuing.

Half an hour later, he slips through the back entrance of a particular nightclub, well aware that the person he needs will be inside. Grantaire is the easiest person in the world to track down, even for someone who has little knowledge of the man's habits, and for an old friend… well, there aren't _that_ many clubs that fit the bill. This one is adequate: minimal lighting, attractive waitstaff, and an ample bar. In the center of it all, a man in his mid twenties, all but oblivious to the world until he spots an acquaintance he hasn't seen in a while. "Do I dare ask?" he says in greeting. "You look like hell - and I'm pretty sure that's the first time I've said that about you."

Enjolras rolls his eyes, almost tempted to hit his friend. "I feel like hell," he admits.

"Oh please tell me you didn't fall for the daughter of a mob boss or something. The last thing I need is for Romeo and Juliet two point oh to happen."

"Worse."

Grantaire's eyes widen. "Worse than a mafia princess? I know your taste in women is abysmal, but is that even _possible_?"

"The Viperess." It's the first time he's spoken her name - or, more accurately, the name the journalists gave her. He doesn't know her real one, nor does he care to. At this point, he wishes he knew nothing about the woman in question.

"Yeah, you could've done worse."

"Twice."

"And she didn't try to kill you?"

"She can't. Unbreakable, remember?"

"Right. Well… far as I see it, you're the only guy in this city who she can fuck without worrying she'll accidentally kill. You need to enjoy this, mate."

"Enjoy the fact that I'm sleeping with my nemesis?"

"She's only your nemesis because that whackjob flower boy has an overactive imagination. And besides, she's hot."

Enjolras rolls his eyes. "You think anything with a pulse is hot, R."

"So I do. But that one… man, there are people who'd kill to be you."

"It's not…"

"It is. Enjoy it. And for fuck's sake, get over yourself!"


	4. Memories of Whispers

She remembers a woman who died so that others like her could live.

It was a tenuous connection at best, that between the martyr and the defiant young girl who barely knew her, but it meant something. Whisper, as the media labeled her, was the first adult young Eponine knew who wasn't dangerous. The first one who had a sense of right and wrong. The first one who had something worth fighting for. The first one who died.

She remembers microphones shoved in her face, reporters asking about the woman who lived next door. She never gave them anything because they weren't worth her thirteen-year-old time.

It wasn't like Whisper and her daughter even lived there anymore. They'd been gone six months. Still had a lease on the house, but whether or not they paid it was a different matter altogether. Little Eponine missed them, the kind-hearted woman who never minded when she turned up at odd hours and the girl her own age who was always so full of life. It was the closest she ever had to family, genetics be damned.

She remembers seeing the pictures all over the news and spending two solid days locked in her bedroom, mourning.

It shouldn't have hit her like it did. She barely knew the woman - spent a lot of time around her, yes, but didn't _know_ her. Didn't know any of the things that made her tick or any of the reasons someone might want her dead. And they killed her, Eponine knew that much. Some bastard with a shotgun thought that offing a sweet young woman might achieve their goals. It didn't work - didn't exactly hurt that side, but the mutants needed a martyr and Whisper was as good as any.

She remembers the day she chose to be better.

It wasn't supposed to be a conscious choice, but she was sixteen and kicked out of her family's home and needed a battle plan. Using her power to get what she wanted would've been the easy way out, but she knew better. She didn't want to needlessly hurt. It would taint the memory too much - and the memories were powerful, more than she ever wanted to admit. She was a smart enough girl, and though she was willing to let her ability serve as an extra incentive, it wasn't all she had.

But most of all, she remembers the dream she had the night after she was with him the first time.

It was unlike anything else that had ever crossed her mind. She's had nightmares on a regular basis since she was young, but this was the opposite. This was something powerful and oh so different. Something worth wanting.

In the dream, Whisper gave her blessing.

And in the morning, Eponine - twenty-three, manipulative seductress who'd crossed every line she could find in the name of staying alive - remembered that she was supposed to be better. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. It was a start, that thought. Something worth building a new life on. And so help her, she was going to try.


	5. Champion Rosebush

Obligations, Eponine thinks, are the absolute worst. Current example - she's stuck at a flower show with her best friend's boyfriend, who is _normally_ tolerable but is currently on another one of his infamous tangents. If ever she's wanted to use her power for cruel reasons, now would be as good a time as any.

It's not that she doesn't like Jehan, because most of the time she does. Most of the time she has a very special spot in her heart for the reporter who often looks like an adorable fashion victim and pulled off androgyny before it was cool (and without even realizing it, more often than not). But right now, in a community center basement where they are the only people under the age of forty, she's not so sure about all that goodwill. One thing's for sure, Cosette owes her _big_ for making her go to this thing.

"… and that's the only trophy I haven't won," Jehan finishes, tying off some explanation Eponine didn't exactly follow. "But today's going to be the day, I'm sure of it."

She rolls her eyes. He has a gift with plants - she's seen the stuff he manages to grow on his fire escape and all of it is flipping beautiful, even the things that shouldn't be able to grow at all in their climate. Sometimes she's pretty sure he has a power like her own, except that would be ridiculous because powers are supposed to be dangerous and there's nothing remotely dangerous about champion carnations. (Then again, maybe her perceptions of how powers work is a little hazy, but she's only ever known three others who had them and none of them were especially fluffy.) That would be so _him_, though. Sometimes she hopes she's right.

"We should sit down. Awards are about to be announced."

So they do so, on two cold folding chairs in the back. For her own amusement, Eponine reaches out and grabs his hand. She's wearing a pair of old driving gloves, so there's no need for caution - not that she would ever voluntarily use her power on Jehan, but the thought is there.

It would be nice if he would finally shut up, but the boy just doesn't seem to have an off switch. Volume, on the other hand, gets significantly lower once a middle-aged woman starts announcing various categories.

"So I heard a pretty interesting rumor the other day."

"Mmmm?" She's vaguely interested, if only because it is the first time he's said something today that didn't have anything to do with the damn flower show.

"Yeah. There's footage of that unbreakable blonde leaving a dodgy hotel… and of the Viperess leaving the same place through a different entrance a couple minutes later."

"And I care because…"

"You can't lie to me forever, Ep. I can lie to everybody else and say I don't know you, but you're not very subtle."

She squeezes his hand, aiming for standard-issue pain, and blushes bright red. "It's not what it looked like."

"Yeah, _sure_ it isn't. Look, he's hot. Everyone knows that. The only question here is what would someone like that want with…"

"Someone like me," she finishes. "Well, damned if I know. But honestly, it's just sex. No feelings."

"Then why did you blush when I mentioned it?"

"Because… I don't know. But it really isn't what it looks like."

"You're sleeping with someone who's tried to kill you, Ep."

"Thanks for the support," she laughs, "But I know what I'm doing."

"Just be careful, okay?"

"I'm always careful." And as the judge announces Jehan's winning rosebush, Eponine kisses the tip of his forehead. "See, now you're blushing even worse than I am."


End file.
